Defuse
by Creepy Mae West Kozi
Summary: Winston was quickly at John's elbow, pressing a tumbler of bourbon into the tall man's bloodied hands, steering him from the room and muttering under his breath about cocky fools and close calls and carpet cleaning. Alternate ending to Chapter 2.


John's vision tunneled; there was a low buzzing in his ears almost drowned out by the staccato beat of his blood rushing and boiling in his veins. Cordite burned his nostrils, the weight of the gun simultaneously hot and cold in his hand as he stood across the lounge from Santino D'Antonio.

Winston was saying something to him – a part of John thought it curious that the manager's voice shook slightly when he had never known him to be anything less than composed - but John could scarce understand anything other than the bravado stretched thin throughout Santino's laconic taunting. John Wick failed to care about anything in that moment, save for the fact that the man he held responsible for destroying what had remained of Helen's home and Helen's art yet breathed. It was only the realization that killing Santino here and now would afford the Italian a technical _win_ with the inevitable consequences that shifted his aim two inches to the right.

There was a crack of gunfire as the bullet brushed Santino's cheek leaving a long red furrow. It served to shut the Italian up, brought fear into his eyes even as it leeched color from his flesh. For the moment, it served to appease the dark fury of John's rage enough to hear Winston's voice clearly once more.

"I am _done_ ," Wick snarled, placing the gun heavily on a nearby table, pointing a quivering finger towards Santino. "Consider carefully how little I have left to lose, and just _why_ that is."

Santino nodded jerkily in response. Wisely, he remained seated. Were the Italian to stand, John did not think he'd be able to stop himself, the instinct of a predator faced with fearful, fleeing, bleeding prey. _With my hands,_ he had told Santino in the museum when the other had asked how he would kill him. John did not _need_ the gun to do it.

Winston was quickly at John's elbow, pressing a tumbler of bourbon into the tall man's bloodied hands, steering him from the room and muttering under his breath about cocky fools and close calls and carpet cleaning. John's gaze remained trained on the Italian who sat still and frozen like a frightened rabbit until they rounded the corner. John's dark gaze snapped unerringly to Winston who sat him down in a chair in one of the private lounges before taking a seat opposite with the air of a man trying to decide how to go about disarming a bomb.

He watched John carefully for a long moment, before sighing, "Jonathon..."

"Santino D'Antonio will leave the country, or he will die," John stated shortly. "Soon," he added, his voice leaving him in a rumbling growl like distant thunder.

Winston could almost _feel_ his grey hairs multiplying.

"…That will do little to halt the bounty on your head. Killing two holders of a High Table Seat will set the rest of them against you; you will be hunted for the rest of your life."

John stayed silent, but he took a pull from his drink and closed his eyes for a long moment. Thinking.

Some of the tension drained from Winston's shoulders - Jonathan thinking was a sign that the man was less inclined to finish what he'd started, Continental rules be damned.

"May I send the High Table a message?" The banked rage had somewhat drained from Wick, leaving the injured man sounding tired.

"The Hotel _does_ offer a courier service, you know that."

John nodded. "…Then …I would like to inform them of certain truths, and let the High Table make an informed decision as they will."

Winston sat back steepling his fingers. "How diplomatic of you," he remarked dryly, one eyebrow raised.

John's answering glower told the story of the Hell he was prepared to unleash should the 'diplomatic method' fall short of his requirements. Winston shook his head, resigned – John Wick would drive him to drink if he wasn't already there.

* * *

 _John Wick claimed Gianna D'Antonio's life as the price for a marker owed to Santino D'Antonio. Mr. Wick would like it known that he holds no grudge against the High Table, and that his anger towards the current holder of the Camorra representative seat is of a personal nature related to the desecration and destruction of the last mementos of his late wife, not one borne of politics._

* * *

Santino makes arrangements to leave New York for his family's estate in Italy. His intention is to wait for things to cool off in the United States - to return once the contract on John Wick is completed. He does not sleep well.

* * *

Ares remains State-side, comatose and on breathing assistance. Her condition is stable. She wakes up to find John Wick sitting at her bedside, the very picture of the Grim Reaper.

 _Fucker,_ she signs, her motions sharp and angry for all that her hands tremble with the effort. _Here to finish the job?_

"No," he says shortly. "Just letting you know that Santino has left you behind."

He stands up and leaves before she can retort, and though she tries to deny it a seed of doubt sprouts in her heart.

* * *

Cassian's reputation is _almost_ repaired. His ward was killed under his watch - normally a career ending blow, particularly for as high profile a client as Gianna D'Antonio had been. But news spreads that he has survived being stabbed in the heart by John Wick, the Devil Incarnate himself. He keeps the fact that buying the man a drink is what saved his life, not any inherent indestructibility.

* * *

There's a haze of anger that lifts when John hears the news that the video from his phone can be salvaged. The screen had been broken, but the data drive had survived. Uploaded onto a new device, he feels almost like a real person instead of an empty shell.

 _"What are you doing, John?"_

 _"Looking at you."_

* * *

Over the next few weeks he reclaims what he can from the burnt-out skeleton of his house. Most of the basement remains intact, and the insurance payout is enough to net him a new place (not a home, not without Helen to make it so).

He gets some obligatory well-wishes from Helen's family - they never really liked him, and it's odd to hear from them at all. His interactions with them are stilted and awkward, peppered with _will-you-be-alright_ and _do-you-have-a-place-to-stay_. He rebuffs them with one- and two-word answers, finding the concerns of these normal people to be almost alien in nature. It's a relief when they stop asking.

* * *

He gets the news late, a text from an unknown number, though he suspects Winston or Charon. Santino D'Antonio is dead and Cassian is on the run from a High Table bounty. The price on his own head has been officially retracted.

He feels nothing.

The dog trots over to lick his fingers, and he feels something lighter.

He is free.

* * *

Notes: Some of the John Wick and Chapter 2 trailer tag lines have made puns on Wick's last name. Here he is defused instead of going off. (Well, more off.) I think it would be almost poetic if Cassian were the one to kill Santino in the end. Something to think about while I wait for the next episode of _Midnight, Texas_ to air to see where that crossover will take me.


End file.
